Distracted

"Sweet Jesus," I mumble when I take a quick appraisal--his pale blue shirt and blue tie make his blue eyes completely arresting.   I noticed him and wouldn't have said anything, but I had to reply to the "Good afternoon, ladies."

I quickly divert my eyes and focus on the task at hand.  I can't even operate the fax machine correctly.  I stare stupidly at the buttons.  Do I dial a 9 to get out or just the number?  Suddenly I can't think.  My mistake on the keypad makes the fax machine's alarm shrilly beep.

Let's all watch the technical writer fumble at the cutting-edge office equipment that's been around for thirty some odd years...

"Here, let me dial, you're obviously distracted," my coworker chuckles.  She dials 9 and the number and her paper slides through like an electric knife moving through butter.

"Just hit redial; you should be OK."  She waits with me while I fax my paperwork.  I look at her and at the machine...anywhere but at him.

As we walk back to our area I thank her for helping me avoid a near occasion of sin.  Refraining from my witty one-liners during my tenure here is much easier than I initially imagined; I can't even think straight at times, yet alone speak.